INK 2015 Cover Art: Karla, Grade 7 Back Cover: Manuela, Grade 8

Artwork featured in this edition of INK was inspired by The East Harlem School’s 2014 Benefit entitled “Creation.” INK A Student Literary Arts Magazine “Poetry is about manner as much as it is about matter.” From Armitage’s preface to Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

The poetic enterprise on 103rd Street imbues all of our work. Every day we ask our students to engage the world, words, and themselves with the hard gaze of disciplined inquiry – and we demand that hard gaze be softened by a love and awe for what they examine. This process occurs in the mathematics classroom, the science lab, and on the soccer pitch.

With poetry specifically, our students closely observe their own interior and our shared exterior worlds – the matter. Then students, while learning the templates and structures of great poetry, carefully craft language and develop dynamic oratory – themanner of expression. With matter and manner in balance, students seek to move themselves and others to active empathy, deep understanding, laughter, tears, and hope.

Ivan M. Hageman Head of School

1 The East Harlem School at Exodus House Small school. BIG impact.

Our mission: The East Harlem School challenges students to develop a balanced physical, moral, and intellectual strength that they will use to adapt to change - and for the final purpose of creating and sharing lives of deep meaning, dynamic actions, and transcendent joy. We are a middle school (grades 4-8) that recruits children from families with low income and the highest values, and we give preference to those who keep to the traditional belief that creative flight can only be sustained by grounded discipline.

Our history: Exodus House has been an anchoring and iconic institution in Harlem since its founding in 1963 by Reverend Dr. Lynn and Mrs. Leola Hageman as a drug rehabilitation center. Due to a heightened concern for the welfare and well-being of the community’s many underserved, at-risk children, Exodus House was converted in 1984 to an after- school and summer program facility. Then, in the fall of 1993, inspired by the steadfast commitment of their parents to the East Harlem community, the couple’s sons, Hans and Ivan, opened a year-round independent middle school on the original Exodus House site to better address the critical needs of these children and their families. Today, EHS is chartered by the New York State Department of Education and accredited by the Middle States Association of Colleges and Schools. The East Harlem School is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization.

2 “The Slam is what we do.”

Student poets with Slam Judges Aimee Mullins, Jane Foley Fried, Rupert Friend, and Charlotte Glynn at the 2015 Spring Poetry Slam on May 7, 2015 at B.B. King Blues Club & Grill.

Photo Credit: Michael Priest Photography

3 Table of Contents: Student Poetry

Abraham Portrait of my Father 5 Ana The Lovely Woman Looks Forward 6 Antonio Master Builder 7 Arturo Life and Legos 8 Ashley Domino Country 9 Ashley M. Dancing in Happiness 10 Atzhary Secret Agents 11 Axel The Man Who Made Coffee Out of Mud 12 Brandon One Drop Changes Everything 13 Brianna Level 4AP 14 Cherise My Sanctuary 15 Devin Lake Winnipesaukee 16 Art Work Various Artists 17- 20 Eram Homesick 21 Erik Pizza Sky 22 Fatima She Sits 23 Geraldine Wondering in the Window 24 Itzel No Training Wheels 25 Jada The Drive 26 Janielle My Invisible Uncle 27 Jayleen Backyardigans 28 Jennifer Train Lullaby 29 Karla From Behind the Red Curtains 30 Katelyn My Mom Who Cries in the Corner 31 Kelly There Was a Day 32 Keyani Three Bears 33 Latoya Daddy’s Little Girl 34 Lesli Stuck in Mexico 35 Luis The Weight of Brotherhood 36 Madison My Protector 37 Ryana Is America Worth It? 38 Soraida Bravery in Her Blood 39 Skylar 108 Years 40 Tonatiu Electric Night 41

4 Portrait of my Father By Abraham, Grade 7

Every night at 11:30 My dad settles into his bed My father reaches up And looks at the cracked ceiling, And into the dark cabinet Cracked like his worn hands. To find his yellowed, faithful He stares up at the ceiling Spanish-English dictionary, That is pieced together Which is as worn out as he is. Like the life that he’s created.

He stares into the blue book And I look up at my cracked ceiling, That crackles as its yellow pages unfold. And think of our family picture, I watch as the light engulfs his still frame. And imagine that next to it I watch as he takes in the bolded words, Admiring them, studying them, I will hang a portrait of my father As if they were Rembrandt’s brush strokes. Reading his Spanish-English dictionary Page after page He becomes lost in the maze of foreign words. Night after night. As hours pass, the curtains shield me his light. He remains peering into the crusted pages, Occasionally glancing up at the family picture Which hangs like the steady heartbeat in his chest. I watch as his eyes grow weary.

I see wrinkles surface around his eyes. The red clock 1:00 AM. He shelves the book Knowing he will return to it the next day. Same time, new pages.

Sponsored by Timothy Chow, Kim Frank, Carol Gluck, Rebekah McCabe, Robert Meringolo, Michael Ryan, The Seidel Family, and Carter Simonds 5 The Lovely Woman Looks Forward By Ana, Grade 4

My mother dreams of the future. She watches the train As it speeds out of sight. She watches the rain As it drops to the ground. She watches my brother As he explores new toys. She watches the river As it flows towards the ocean. And every night She kisses me goodnight She watches me run And watches me grow up. As I chase after the soccer ball. My mother dreams of the future.

By Ixchel, Grade 7

Sponsored by Jon & Abby Moses and Joy Singer

6 Master Builder By Antonio, Grade 8

We spread the gray clay-like compound on They bring this old house back to life, The walls dented and peeling from years of My father is the foreman. history. We watch him measure and plan, He shows me how to hold the towel And we follow his instructions. And push the putty until the rough edges are smooth. He wants it done correctly the first time. The second time is always harder, he says. We lay smooth, polished, heavy tile on top of When he’s not working, Cold, hard concrete, covered in saw dust. We go fishing in Long Island.

He shows me how to set the tile down He taught me to tie a tight knot slowly, To connect the hook and the cane. Keeping a straight line. And he taught me to wait for a striped We force nails into wood that becomes bass, a wall, A big, fighting fish who doesn’t want to be Making upright what was falling down. caught. We paint layers of white over The dried compound and abandoned memories.

He tells me to keep a pattern, Paint in the same direction every stroke.

We fill the house with work, talk, and Mexican music. My father, uncles, and cousins.

Sponsored by Andrew Chapman, Robert Meringolo, and Carter Simonds

7 Life and Legos By Arturo, Grade 4

To build a Lego structure, It’s easy. No matter how big your dream, You do it piece by piece And you’ll get it all done.

If a isn’t where it belongs piece Ask the instructions, “Where does this go?” It’s okay to ask for help.

If it does not answer, Just ask again (make sure to say please). It’s going to talk.

Don’t be sad. And if you’re going to be mad, Just be a little mad. You’ll get it right. It just takes some time.

Building with Legos is a lot like life: Slow down, Sponsored by Anonymous, Kristen & Boris Arabadjiev, Have fun, Cassandra Berger, Michael Bingle, Keep calm, Diana Brooks, Timothy Chow, And just relax! Lucia Engstrom Davidson, Jon Ein, Lynette Engel, Liz Figel, Kim Frank, Peter Hildebrand, No matter how big your dream, Kristin Johnson, Claire Kiefer, Each piece will fall into place. Christina Kwak, Jamie Leonhart, Bethia Liu, Christopher Lynch, Winifred Mabley, Jon & Aby Moses, Laurie Gene Mygatt, Robert Meringolo, Anne & Tom Robinson, Michael Ryan, Dee Moses Schwab, The Seidel Family Dan Singer & Catherine Havemeyer, and Ingrid Wong 8 Domino Country By Ashley, Grade 6

I come from a When I go where I come from, Place called San Francisco de Macoris The hot sun beams on my face, Where all my people are. And I ride a calm white horse Where all puro Dominicans are. On my uncle’s farm. But then there’s El Barrio, La Capital, “No te ponga eso muchacha, que ta Where all the Dominicans dance caliente,” bachata with My mom shouts, and the sweet, salty Smooth flowing hips. Sweat drips down behind my knees. One, two, three, tap: “¡Wepa! ¡Esa si sabe bailar!” I am proud They shout. Of where I come from. I come from a hot, horse-riding, dancing, Where I come from they domino country. Play dominos, And, like dominos, the country falls into my “El juego ta trancao,” they say. life People slamming the dominos on the table In the city, pushing me Get competitive, forgetting that it’s a game. Ever so slightly When I go where I come from, Towards home. I play dominos with my grandma. Even though she’s 74 years old, She has those domino moves That make you want to mess with her a little.

Sponsored by Anonymous, Eryn & Mike Bingle, Claire Kiefer, Robert Meringolo, and Julia Pershan

9 Dancing in Happiness By Ashley M., Grade 6

While I walked to the theater, The crowd was flying. My legs shook like a cymbal, I felt a war drop like Vibrating like Syrup sliding down my neck. The rhythm of the fast, upbeat music. I heard the beat of my heart pounding. The aroma of roses sustained me. When I came to the theater, The metal shoes hit the floor like I felt the heat burning my feet. Horses galloping on stage. I felt an eruption of eagerness. I could see my reflection in the shiny black shoes. I heard the clapping of the audience My top was white glowing vines, Behind the long, red, rough curtain. Hanging down into a mysterious It was dark, and I couldn’t see blackness. The people in the audience, Only flashes for their loved ones. The jazzy music had begun, But my parents, like the real stars, And so I danced. Waited patiently for me to shine. Danced like those who have come before me As I walked onto the stage, On this venerated stage. I recognized my mom’s Danced like the Long almond hair Hot metal on the bottom of my shoe And my dad’s hands was Clapping excitedly. Burning like a star in the night sky. I felt the music in my body. God’s eyes from the rafters Shone down on me and heated my cheeks.

Sponsored by Diana Brooks, Rita & Robert Crotty, Robert Meringolo, Julia Pershan, Dee Moses Schwab, and The Seidel Family

10 Secret Agents By Atzhary, Grade 5 Even when we were supposed to be My sister and I had bunk beds, sleeping. But we put all our toys, Sometimes we snuck out of bed to play All our clothes, Operation, All the extra blankets and pillows, Diving under the covers when our mom On the top. came to the door. We shared the bottom. Practicing for our days as secret agents. Snuggled like two koala bears, Warm as fresh baked bread. When my sister comes home to visit, I have never wanted my own bed. The bed turns warm again and my heart turns full. Ana, who would wake me up talking on the Agent Ana and Agent Atzhary, phone all night, Together under the covers, Laughing with her friends right there beside Like koala bears. me, So inconsiderate, Wants to be an FBI Agent. I do, too. We have to go to college first, And then one day, we’ll be; Agent Ana and Agent Atzhary. Keeping America safe.

She went first, my big sister. And now I sleep alone. Cold in my bed like a cat left outside in the night. I miss how she was always laughing, Always talking,

Sponsored by Carol Brown Hageman and Robert Meringolo

11 The Man Who Made Coffee Out of Mud By Axel, Grade 6

My mom showed me a picture, Abuelo’s voice is all I know, And I nodded like I knew. On the other end of the line, She told me it was my abuelo, The man who eats tortas, The man who made coffee out of mud. The man whose dog is as tall as a door, The man who cared enough for my mom In Mexico where they lived, To help her make coffee out of mud. There were no toys, But there was dirt. And now my mom walks past There was not always enough food, The fancy dresses, dismisses the high But there was dirt. Heeled shoes, and There were last year’s dresses and hand-me She buys me what I need. down shoes, We might not have to make coffee out of And there was dirt. mud, So my grandfather made coffee out of mud. But the lesson sticks in our soil.

With broken tea cups and empty cans, I see his face in her. My mother ran her café. As she speaks, I hear him talk, She poured water into dirt “Ese es mi niño.” And she made coffee out of mud. “That’s my boy.” Oh what fun they had, pinkies up, Pretending to drink café.

“Buy what you need, not what you want,” He pointed out. “Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can,” Said another brave man, But he never made coffee out of mud.

Sponsored by Timothy Chow, Cornelia Ercklentz, Carol Brown Hageman, Kristin Johnson, and Pamela Kenny

12 One Drop Changes Everything By Brandon, Grade 5

Some mornings, when I just don’t want to get out of bed, My mother says, “Life is like a drop of water that falls. It splashes.” When she says that, she cries And the drops fall on me.

Ma, I sometimes call her, Who cleans other people’s houses, Who cares for other people’s babies.

“La vida se va rapido,” she says. Life goes by fast One drop changes everything.

Ma, who teaches me lessons. When you’re little You want to grow up so quickly. “But you don’t how hard life is,” she says. Drops of work Drops of rent Drops of bills Sometimes there are just too many drops, They become tears of sadness.

Ma, who wants me to have more than she did. Who wants me to enjoy every minute of life. For her I will soak up every drop And dance in the sun Before the rainstorm begins.

Sponsored by Boris & Kristen Arabadjiev, Michael Bingle, Liz Figel, Winifred Mabley, and Tiana Stephens

13 Level 4AP “Pull your stomach in, I can see everything By Brianna, Grade 6 you ate for lunch.” My arms. My feet. My arms rounded like a beach ball on a My skin colored shoes, sunny day, Caramel just like me. But ache from holding them up for eternity. The wind from the vent, Sharp pains, Blows the dust from the floor Exploding pains through my triceps, Under my feet. Squeezing, pleading, screaming and crying, Red with pain, blisters, for relief. Skin peeling off, “Hold your arms!” Aching and pounding From the ball to the heel. My hair. There are no flowers to touch My warm, smooth, brownish black hair, Or smell. That my parents used to tie. “Point your feet.” Now I plant the bun myself, and Strands slip as I do My legs. Supressós in the air. My scratchy, skin colored tights, Rubbing against my camel colored skin. My face. Muscles pop up everywhere as I My tight expression and clenched Relevé to demi pointe. Jaw holding pinball beads of sweat. The holes in my tights My glasses fall from Expose the flesh, My nose. I try not to pick at them. But I don’t care “Pull your legs up.” “Lift your chin up.”

My stomach. I hear the rumble of the My stomach gently caressing the blue, Piano’s vibration on the floor Soft, cottony crisp leotard that And the gentle hover of slippers stretches and In the studio. Pulls as my lungs expand and contract. 5, 6, 7, 8. Abdominals growing like seeds into a plant Now, I’m ready to start my magic. As I jump into a grande jeté in the air.

Sponsored by Rita & Robert Crotty and The Seidel Family

14 My Sanctuary By Cherise, Grade 8

Lying on the lush gracious green grass Wishing I could stay I look up into infinity, But this is not my place. Watching clumps of white wispy dreams float by. My mind begins to fill with thoughts, My body patiently pressing into the ground My body waking from its slumber, I block out all sound: Coming back into our fast paced world. The passersby and their rickety bikes, I walk slowly away, Their overly obnoxious conversations. Leaving behind my sweet silent sanctuary. Silence is all I hear, Knowing I will return. And slowly time begins to stop.

The sweet smell of grass bombards my nose. The soft blades caressing my still body. I open my eyes to this newborn world. The small un-noticeable details growing salient, Every particle making its debut.

I observe the beautiful green gale, Admiring its vibrant colors. How it stands still and doesn’t move, Aware of all around it. I watch the trees and how they blow in the wind, Letting their leaves fly away, Yet standing strong, standing tall Almost touching infinity I lay down and watch,

Sponsored by Robert Meringolo and Julio Rodriguez

15 Lake Winnipesaukee By Devin, Grade 6

All winter, I wait. Wait for that feeling When the puff of air Comes from afar and You grab the main sheet so tight. You hold on for dear life.

Squall hits the canvas, You glide through water. Now nothing can make you go into irons, Now nothing can make you face the wind.

The opportunity lies in the sails. They unfurl like buds peeking Through frost in April.

Back from Lake Winnipesaukee, Knots I have tied Crossed and combined.

Mooring my boat to the slip. The shoulders of the tiller Beneath the sails, I watch the buoy bob on the horizon.

Sponsored by Anthony Acosta, Cynthia Acosta, Diana Brooks, Joan Levy, and Rebecca Levy

16 Self Portait Study By Manuela, Grade 8

17 Hand Study By Brittany, Grade 6

18 “Portrait from Life” By Ashley, Grade 6

19 Hand Study By Camille, Grade 6 20 Homesick By Eram, Grade 5

I wanted to love Bangladesh. The place my parents met, I wanted to love Bangladesh, The place my brother was born. But it wasn’t my home. I pictured the farm my mom grew up on, I wanted toast for breakfast, not rice. Picking potatoes, fresh from the dirt, I wanted to hear English, hop on a subway, Soft and easy to mash. And I wanted to toss around a football. I thought I’d be milking cows, Cricket was fine, but I wanted a Seahawks Like my father did when he was my age. game on TV! I was excited to meet so many cousins, I had never been as American To cook broccoli with my grandmother, As I was when I was in Bangladesh. To read the Koran with my grandfather. There was so much about the country that I I wanted to love Bangladesh, did not know. And I am glad I went. The country of my roots. It is, after all, the country of my roots. But one day, when I play in the FIFA World I wanted to love Bangladesh, Cup, But the heat was horrible, I am proud to say, A fire-breathing dragon torturing me, I plan to play for Team USA. Every time I left the house. It was the sweatiest month of my life. And the air, the food, the water —something— Sponsored by Anonymous, Made me sick, Kristen & Boris Arabadjiev, Brian Babst, So I stayed in bed for almost a week. Diana Brooks, Timothy Chow, When I went out, the streets were packed Mary Ann & Peter Clarke, with people. Lucia Engstrom Davidson, Liz Figel, Kim Frank, Claire Kiefer, Lisa & Oliver Knowlton, If I didn’t hold my mother’s hand I Marissa Kolodny, Jamie & Michael Leonhart, would’ve been lost, Winifred Mabley, Rebekah McCabe, A little boy in a sea of stomachs. Hali McClelland, Robert Meringolo, Julia Pershan, I had too many cousins to count. Winnie & Bill Post, Justin Riedell, It was all just overwhelming. Michael Ryan, The Seidel Family, Julia & Rusty Shepard, Dan Singer & Catherine Havemeyer, Eve Stuart, Stephanie Tseng, and Ingrid Wong

21 Pizza Sky By Erick, Grade 5

Sometimes in the city, There is not enough sky. But outside my window, I can see a small piece of it. I have to lie on my bed, And tilt my head just the right way To get a glimpse of it, Shaped like a little slice of pizza. I look at it, It gazes back at me.

I find my piece of sky when I am exhausted From long subway rides, From my ears full of explosive sounds. It makes me feel that even though We are so crowded down here on earth, There is room up there, out there, For people to gaze up and relax. Sometimes in the city, There is not enough sky.

Sponsored by Diana Brooks, Andrew Chapman, Mary Ann & Peter Clarke, James & Lisa Freedman, Claire Kiefer, Christina Kwak, Hali McClelland, William Papain, and Julia Pershan

22 She Sits Pointing precisely in front of her. By Fatima, Grade 8 They know that my mother will do Her job silently. My mother sat silently, She waits tolerantly as the laughing At 13, selling those lollipops, women Perfectly coated with the Cheerfully choose shades of color Adored colors of the Mexican flag. For their perfect nails.

She sat submissively underneath the She coats continuously, Sizzling, scorching sun. Hands after hands, Behind a beaten, broken stand Layer after layer, On the edge of the Day after day with Steep, sandpapered street of Guerrero. Dazzling colors.

She sat tolerantly, drowsily They sit unconscious, Waiting for the children who would Unaware of the coated lollipops and Cheerfully come out of school; The sandpapered streets Carrying dense textbooks That brought her here to the Nail Salon Eager to buy her lollipops. and Spa.

She wanted to keep her distance from this I will not sit submissively, hope. Or silently, She couldn’t finish the 6th grade, Selling sugar or vanity. My grandparents didn’t have enough Someday, I’ll stand behind a big wooden money bench, To cover her education. A judge who makes things fair.

And now she sits submissively Underneath a gleaming white roof in America, Behind a cushioned desk Where women lay their Extended fingers,

Sponsored by Anonymous, Eryn Bingle, Diana Brooks, Mary Ann & Peter Clarke, Locus Analytics, Rebekah McCabe, Jon & Abby Moses, William Papain, Winnie & Bill Post, The Seidel Family, Carter Simonds, and Ingrid Wong

23 Wondering in the Window By Geraldine, Grade 5

When I am home alone, The Dominican guy at the Deli who says, I am NOT supposed to look out the window. “Aqui esta la niña Mexicana que quiere su My father says a stranger could see me. sandwich.” Or the police. The crossing guard who gives me a fist And I am too young, to be home bump every morning, Alone. Tells me to be safe, But my curiosity cannot resist. And fixes my gym bag like a mother. I pull the curtain aside, I think they would miss me if I left. Just a little bit. I would miss them. I wipe away the fog, My hands melting into the coldness of the In my room, there is a bag, blue like the glass. ocean, I only show my eyes, That is full of my clothes from last year. But still, I am being disobedient. They don’t fit me anymore. But I like to look through them. Everyone out there seems like they have And when I do, a tear comes for my somewhere to go. childhood, I am here stuck inside my apartment, For when I wasn’t left alone, By the window like a cat. For when I wasn’t sitting by the window I dream of a house with a yard, like a cat, Not my apartment with walls scarred from Wondering. the fire. I dream of a house with a place for the trash, So I won’t have to hear cockroaches, Their little feet tapping like breaking crackers. But outside my window, I see my neighborhood, my people.

Sponsored by Eryn Bingle, Andrew Chapman, Mary Ann & Peter Clarke, Lucia Engstrom Davidson, Jon Ein, Liz Figel, James & Lisa Freedman, Rebekah McCabe, Julia Pershan, The Seidel Family, Julia & Rusty Shepard, and Carter Simonds

24 No Training Wheels By Itzel

“You don’t need training wheels” he said. rock “Today you’re going to learn.” It’s okay to hit the breaks I looked at my dad with doubt. Just get off and Walk! Put your feet Walk! In their spots Walk! And pedal! pedal! Today I learned to ride a bike pedal! Without any training wheels. I found that what he said was true, You control your bike And all I really needed to do With concentration Was see my goal So look! And push, push, push look! My doubts left far behind. look!

If you see a person In your path Just ring! ring! ring!

When you reach A great big hill Each leg as heavy as a

Sponsored by Kristen & Boris Arabadjiev, Diana Brooks, Mary Ann & Peter Clarke, Andrew Chapman, Chris Constable, Liz Figel, Carol Brown Hageman, Christopher Lynch, Robert Meringolo, Julia Pershan, Carter Simonds, and Dan Singer & Catherine Havemeyer 25 The Drive By Jada, Grade 8

My grandpa tells a story, When Grandpa tells this story Not told to everyone. With watery eyes and A story told only to me. Embarrassed cheeks Stained by rebellious tears, About his childhood routine, I fully understand. The morning walk, No ride to school. This is why he brings me to school. This is why he buys me books. Alongside his brothers, This is why I’m here. He walked the five mile distance Through the forest and across the roads. Not the hardest part of their journey.

When the bus passed, White children Wearing new clothes Would throw Rocks and sticks At my grandfather, His brothers, and The other Black boys.

Hiding and dodging, He started each day. The children threw their ignorance and My grandpa carried hate and fear, To the broken, All-Black school and Back home again.

Sponsored by Eryn Bingle, Diana Brooks, Mary Ann & Peter Clarke, Andrew Chapman, Timothy Chow, Liz Figel, Kim Frank, Lucia Engstrom Davidson, James & Lisa Freedman, Kristin Johnson, Jamie & Michael Leonhart, Bethia Liu, Locus Analytics, Winifred Mabley, Rebekah McCabe, Pamela Kenny, Bill & Winnie Post, Anne Robinson, Michael Ryan, The Seidel Family, and Dan Singer & Catherine Havemeyer 26 My Invisible Uncle By Janielle, Grade 4

My uncle light as a cloud Almost so light Today my uncle light as a cloud That no one could see him Has gone up with the clouds Almost so light Has gone up with the bright blue sky That I could lift him up From above his words will rain down to me now Like he used to lift me when I was smaller. No longer wispy words too soft to hear.

My uncle light as a cloud Favorite uncle who now rests among the clouds, Waits for I don’t know which cloud to speak to. me So I’m speaking to all the sky Down the hall Please know that I will never forget you. Out of the florescent lights In his lonely room His room that is dark like a stormy day He waits for me to come To tell him “Hola Tio, Hi Uncle” To tell him about my day.

My uncle light as a cloud Tries to tell me about his day But I can barely hear him His wispy words so soft As he whispers “sorry.”

I tell him that it’s okay I tell him that it’s not his fault I tell him it’s better for him to leave It’s better for him to rest.

Sponsored by Andrew Chapman, Carol Gluck, Rebekah McCabe, Julia Pershan, Michael Ryan, Dee Moses Schwab, and The Seidel Family

27 Backyardigans By Jayleen, Grade 8 Those others, Trapped outside, The day the Backyardigans Will never know the joy of Today my uncle light as a cloud Were born Frolicking in our beautiful backyard. Has gone up with the clouds Was a day like any other. The joy of being a Backyardigan. Has gone up with the bright blue sky Lacrosse, From above his words will rain down to me now Then class, No longer wispy words too soft to hear. And finally frolic.

Favorite uncle who now rests among the clouds, Neighborhood kids I don’t know which cloud to speak to. Passed the gray gate So I’m speaking to all the sky And peered through. Please know that I will never forget you. They must have been jealous of Our grand green space, The beautiful backyard Where the willow shades the sun.

“You look like Backyardigans Trapped in a cage!” They said. I laughed to myself. They don’t even know. I’m so free in my beautiful backyard Behind the fence Where the willow shades the sun.

When I told Ivan, he laughed, too. And there was born the nickname for My cousin-crew. We travel in a pack, Matching uniforms and smirky smiles, Played together In our beautiful backyard.

Sponsored by Brigitte Bentele, Diana Brooks, Eileen De Vito & Bill Glaser, Carol Brown Hageman, Anne L. Kaplan, Roger M. Low, and Sandra & Felipe Ventegeat

28 Train Lullaby By Jennifer, Grade 5

I dream of leaving my neighborhood, When the weather is bad, But I don’t know how I would sleep, The train does not pass. Without the sound of the Metro-North. Now, I can’t sleep on those nights. I am without my lullaby. I know the rhythm by heart, Without the company of people heading out The train nearing, passing, departing, of the city, Drum beats, footsteps, chains clanging, To quieter places. Elephants shaking our apartment. I imagine them falling asleep to owls Or the gentle footsteps of deer. Our first day there, The train knocked my dad’s special box, I dream of leaving my neighborhood, The one with the hummingbird on it, But I don’t know how I would sleep The one he brought all the way Without the sound of the MetroNorth. from Uruguay, Right off the shelf. But we didn’t care, we had a home. After six months in a shelter, A rumbling train wouldn’t stop us, From loving, loving our new apartment, Even if it was louder than a herd of wildebeest, Even if it woke us up every twenty five minutes All night long. Lights in our eyes, Bees in our ears. It was ours, so we were happy.

Sponsored by Anonymous, Kristen & Boris Arabadjiev, Eryn Bingle, Mary Ann & Peter Clarke, Lucia Engstrom Davidson, Cornelia Ercklentz, Carol Brown Hageman, Peter Hildenbrand, Pamela Kenny, Claire Kiefer, Lisa & Oliver Knowlton, Jamie & Michael Leonhart, Winifred Mabley, Rebekah McCabe, Robert Meringolo, Jon & Abby Moses, Laurie Gene Mygatt, Julia Pershan, Bill & Winnie Post, Ruth Shillingford, Joy Singer, and Dan Singer & Catherine Havemeyer,

29 From Behind the Red Curtains By Karla, Grade 7

I used my long hair to hide But pushing through the curtains And my meek voice as a mask Of my hesitation To cover someone I found a way to let go Who wasn’t real. Of my quiet charade.

Down in Times Square Sometimes it’s easier The girl with the long hair To keep the loud girl Wasn’t afraid On a stage in Times Square Of what others thought. Instead of here in East Harlem,

I dreamt of a stage But if I can be loud and strong on stage Red curtains Then one day, And I, the star of the play My performance will follow me here, Showing my true self. Even if I have to act.

But my dream smoldered, Trying to become more. But the fire burned, Motivating my voice.

Some days, I hide Behind the red curtains Like the meek mouse I used to be,

Sponsored by Eryn Bingle, Diana Brooks, Mary Ann & Peter Clarke, Timothy Chow, John Ein, Carol Gluck, Peter Hildenbrand, Kristin Johnson, Rebekah McCabe, Robert Meringolo, and Eve Stuart

30 My Mom Who Cries in the Corner By Katelyn, Grade 5

When I was little and I asked for a toy, I will not take any more dollars And my mom said, To the 99 Cent Store, We’ll buy it next week, To buy silly stuff I believed her. Like a plastic water gun, Now I know we probably won’t buy it. Or a Rubik’s Cube that doesn’t even turn.

I try not to ask for things, I will save our money. Now that I understand. For something important. But sometimes, I still do. I will save our money. I begged for a hamster. To stop my mother’s tears. I probably shouldn’t have.

My mom goes to work every day. She works for the city, Answering phones In the sanitation department. But still she struggles.

My mom cries in secret, But I know. Her body curled small, Her eyes red and wet. Her voice crumbled, Like a piece of paper.

I see her, And I think, I do not need another thing.

Sponsored by Anonymous, Kristen & Boris Arabadjiev, Eryn Bingle, Andrew Chapman, Timothy Chow, Mary Ann & Peter Clarke, Jon Ein, Cornelia Ercklentz, Kristin Johnson, Rebekah McCabe, Hali McClelland, William Papain, The Seidel Family, Tiana Stephens, and Eve Stuart

31 There Was a Day By Kelly, Grade 5

That day in the stairwell But then there were days That’s when I knew. When I felt my heart growing back When they’re holding their breath. To its normal size. So many tears I could hear it beating again. I thought the stairwell would fill with water. Hearing the words of mi Papi say “Florencia ven pa’ca.” There was a day Or mi Mami saying “Kelly ven a comer.” One day That I’ll never forget. There are many days ahead. When I understood Mami and Papi That my parents couldn’t be together Can’t be together. When I knew that my family But when I hear them say Would break apart. “Mija te amamos mucho” Daughter we love you That day I know I felt my heart I have their love Getting smaller and smaller Forever. Until I couldn’t hear it beating Over the sound of my own thoughts.

There was a day When I made a wish Bigger than the Empire State Building. I wished for my family to stay together Forever. Now I know That my wish will never come true.

Sponsored by Anonymous, Rebekah McCabe, Michael Ryan, and Dan Singer & Catherine Havemeyer

32 Three Bears By Keyani, Grade 7

Please hear me, dear parents, From where I stand In the middle Between two angry bears Who roar at one another This cub, 13 now, Is lost, Is in between two lives.

Please hear me, dear Papa Bear, My ears can’t take it anymore. The words you say about my mama Each one a sharp barb Building up the wire fence I long to crawl under.

Please hear me, dear Mama Bear, I fear you do not know How much of my life you’ve missed, How many things I have to hide, The things I wish to say like A piece of mail with no address.

Please hear me, dear parents, For here I stand Arms open wide For a bear hug Because isn’t loving me the one thing On which you can agree?

Sponsored by Anonymous, Eryn Bingle, Mary Ann & Peter Clarke, Rebekah McCabe, and Joy Singer

33 Daddy’s Little Girl By Latoya, Grade 8

We share this sign, No longer a child anymore, A birthmark. No longer yours to claim. The sign says I’m yours, I’ll see this birthmark, and know it’s mine Daddy’s little girl. Not ever yours, or “ours.”

I look at it and see you. I’ll be so many things: I didn’t love it at first, But never daddy’s little girl. But now I do. And that’s how it will be.

Looking in the mirror, I see that mark on my left, Made before birth, We both have it. The same size, on the same side.

It’s how I know you’re mine, too. We quit our visits when I was ten There was nothing good for us with you.

You said you need a test to say I’m yours Is this sign we share not good enough? In the end, you didn’t show Didn’t take the test. You already knew I was yours.

Sponsored by Kristen & Boris Arabadjiev, Eryn Bingle, Diana Brooks, Julia Chang, Chris Constable, Andrew Chapman, Timothy Chow, Mary Ann & Peter Clarke, Luica Engstrom Davidson, John Ein, Cornelia Ercklentz, Carol Gluck, Kristen Johnson, Hali McClelland, Jon & Abby Moses, Greg Palumbo, Julia Pershan, Anne Robinson, Ellen Schneiber, Julia & Rusty Shepard, and Dan Singer & Catherine Havemeyer 34 Stuck in Mexico By Lesli, Grade 6

I remember the day that My mother’s first home in Mexico, My mother left for Mexico Where her father remained and she To care for her father who was ill. returned. My mother, who can’t come home from He died even though she was there. Mexico. My mother, who can’t come home from Mexico. I remember how she waved goodbye With soft hands tired And now my mother cannot change my From cleaning all day. sheets My mother, who can’t come home from Or hug me sweet. I lost a parent, too Mexico. Because my mother cannot return, My mother, who can’t come home from I remember how she walked that day, Mexico. Like a hatched turtle reclaiming the sea, Padding down the jet bridge away from me. So I’ll do my best My mother, who can’t come home from To study hard and practice well. Mexico. I won’t fight with my sister like Chickens vying over the last worm. My mother, a daughter, herself, I won’t because of my mother Left for Mexico to care for her father, Who can’t come home from Mexico. To change his bed sheets and wipe his brow, My mother, who can’t come home from Mexico.

Sponsored by Rita & Robert Crotty, Carol Brown Hageman, Christina Kwak, Rebekah McCabe, Michael Ryan, The Seidel Family, and Dan Singer & Catherine Havemeyer

35 The Weight of Brotherhood Inspired by The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien By Luis, Grade 7

I bear a heavy load, Things change as we grow. A burden, also a gift, I no longer protect him I am an older brother. From the dark closet. And as he grows heavier, He, a tiny trumpeting earthquake. The burden I carry lessens. I, a scheming tyrant. I call him “tomato man.” He fumes silently.

I remain a serf to his every need, His bodyguard, His alarm clock in the morning. Before bed I call him immature, Yet if the night frightens him, And he crawls into my bed, I won’t utter a sound.

I carry more than my backpack On the way to school. My parents trust That I will set a good example, That I’ll keep him safe and sound.

Sponsored by Anthony Acosta, Kristen & Boris Arabadjiev, Diana Brooks, Eryn Bingle, Timothy Chow, Rachel Coneybeare, Liz Figel, Carol Gluck, Kristin Johnson, Laurie Gene Mygatt, Julia Pershan, Michael Ryan, Justin Riedell, Anne Robinson, Carter Simonds, Dan Singer & Catherine Havemeyer, Stephanie Tseng, and Ingrid Wong

36 My Protector By Madison, Grade 7

When he first walked through that door, When my fairy tale ended, He was my hero. I was about to turn eight. The one who said in the A princess poisoned by a sorcerer Steady voice of a king, Whose spell transformed my smiles “I will never do anything to hurt you.” Into frowns.

The one whose faith in me lifted my chin, Turns out the fancy The one who would always stand Scent on his clothes On my side of an argument, Meant he was going out My protector from malevolence, Somewhere far away A shield from the darkness. But it wasn’t until two years later I learned the truth. Until he shattered this story I told myself, Life is no fairy tale. The one where he was full of virtue. And now I have He told a lie Started to ride to my own rescue. Which I never thought my hero could do.

In the fairy tales I read as a child I came to expect happily-ever-afters. Despite the curses and deceptions, Good always conquered evil In the end.

Sponsored by Diana Brooks, Liz Figel, Carol Brown Hageman, Rebekah McCabe, Robert Meringolo, Greg Palumbo, The Seidel Family, Eleanor Shakin, and Dan Singer & Catherine Havemeyer

37 Is America Worth It? By Ryana, Grade 5

When my fairy tale ended, I miss my mom most in the mornings. With her soft hugs that always made me I was about to turn eight. In Kingston with her, nothing felt rushed. feel happy. A princess poisoned by a sorcerer She woke up earlier than the sun, I try not to think of my mom, Whose spell transformed my smiles Had breakfast waiting on the table. Because I don’t want to be crying on my Into frowns. While I ate her sweet strawberry pancakes, math problems. She combed my hair, Turns out the fancy Gave me my ponytail for the day. Sometimes I wake in the middle of the Scent on his clothes Now I eat without her, night, Meant he was going out Imagining her in Jamaica, Thinking she will be next to me. Somewhere far away Where it’s hot, hot and sometimes the For ten years, she often was, But it wasn’t until two years later I rain falls In our air conditioned room in Jamaica. learned the truth. Hard as an avalanche. And then I see that I am here, In New York. Life is no fairy tale. My mom has never seen snow, And I remember that she is there, And now I have So I send her pictures. In Kingston. Started to ride to my own rescue. On these winter mornings, And then I can’t sleep again. I put on my boots, And then it is morning. My hat, I miss my mom most in the mornings. My scarf, My gloves, Some mornings, I wonder, Bundled like a person with too Is America worth it? much luggage. And then I go to school, I think that if she were here, Hoping that it is. She’d kiss me out the door.

I come to school, In snow, in rain, on the crunching leaves. I try not to think of my mom,

Sponsored by Anonymous, Diana Brooks, Andrew Chapman, Kristin Johnson, Pamela Kenny, Marisa Kolodny, Christina Kwak, Rebekah McCabe, Robert Meringolo, William Papain, The Seidel Family, Rusty & Julia Shepard, Ruth Shillingford, Dan Singer & Catherine Havemeyer, and Ingrid Wong

38 Bravery in Her Blood By Soraida, Grade 7

She came here She was glad English classes were free, With bravery in her blood No cost for her to speak. And persistence in the pads of her feet. And the classes set her free, She was 17 and naïve. Free to choose the career that she didn’t There was no one expect to pick. To tell her she was better off staying. And so my mother is a teacher, No father Like the one she loved so much. To steer her in the right direction. After all, it was the thorns on her red rose That pricked the bravery in her blood. Her teacher led her to the border, The teacher she had loved for so long. With encouragement and kindness, Her teacher put Bravery in my mother’s blood.

Waiting for the right time to cross the border, She waited with bravery in her blood. When she arrived, she was lost, But she didn’t want to go back To her country alone. Back to the Fatherless military zone.

She learned with bravery in her blood. She studied English and was excited To know the language of her new peers, The peers who laughed and mocked her. They didn’t know About the bravery in her blood.

Sponsored by Anonymous, Diana Brooks, Andrew Chapman, Mary Ann & Peter Clarke, Rita & Roberty Crotty, Carol Gluck, Carol Brown Hageman, Christina Kwak, Maura Lyons, Jon & Abby Moses, Wlliam Papain, Julia Pershan, Winnie & Bill Post, Michael Ryan, Julia & Rusty Shepard, Carter Simonds, Dan Singer & Catherine Havemeyer, Joy Singer, and Ingrid Wong 39 108 Years By Skylar, Grade 6

Laying at the end of Thinking about 1975 The metal rimmed bed When my great great grandmother’s Facing my side, looking son died. At my caramel colored The war ended and so did his life. Great great grandmother Was he an American then? Thinking of her life, a year for Every wrinkle, for every knob Thinking about 2015 In her knuckle on each stubby finger. Laying at the end of the metal rimmed bed. Do I make my grandmother an American? Thinking about 1906 With her blood coursing through my veins? The 26th President of the United States Do her 108 years live in Visits “Porto” Rico for the first time The dimples on my knees? Where the scenery was wonderful She tells me stories that used to be untold. He said, and the mountains Resembled the peaks of Switzerland’s Alps. He suggested that “Porto” Ricans Become Americans.

Thinking about 1907 My great great grandmother is born In Puerto Rico, where her people have been for years Where she is surprised by the suggestion Of a white, foreign president Her identity, born in the Shadow of the stars and stripes.

Thinking about 1960 The war in Vietnam And the people who were lost. Were they merely suggestions?

Sponsored by Diana Brooks, Andrew Chapman, Rita & Robert Crotty, Carol Brown Hageman, Pamela Kenny, Rebekah McCabe, Robert Meringolo, Jon & Abby Moses, William Papain, and Lorre Snyder

40 Electric Night By Tonatiu, Grade 8

There is an electricity in the moon. By night we see our true desires. A pleasurable pulse, We reflect on our moments of A measurable magic, discontent An enormous energy. And those of yearning that are often Blinded by the sun. A bewitching entrancement Unlike the sun It’s when we become Who illuminates all truth, Poets and philosophers, The moon is for things unseen, Those who think best under Things done in shadows the stars. And beneath borrowed cover. It’s for wild hearts and unconcerned minds.

Where plans are made in dark alleyways, Secrets are revealed under the soft Haze of lights coming through the Crack of closed shutters. When fugitives escape And when the children run away. It’s when dreamers fall in love.

That passionate, all-consuming love Always looks a little different In the light of day.

Sponsored by Timothy Chow, Robert Meringolo, and Julia Pershan 41 309 East 103rd Street | New York, NY 10029 212-876-8775|www.eastharlemschool.org